


sometimes the road is steep

by NellieOleson



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 01:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17839511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NellieOleson/pseuds/NellieOleson
Summary: the clock on the wall has been stuck at three for days





	sometimes the road is steep

Vic listens to the echo of Walt’s words while he cooks dinner. Relative to her own efforts, he’s a good cook. Whatever he’s making is going to be better than anything she could wring out of the kitchen in the RV. 

It’s just that she hasn’t felt hungry since she started eating for one again.

_No the only way my situation could be any worse is if you weren’t here right now._

All she’d really wanted was a beer and some solitude. Instead she has a plate of food she can’t finish, and Walt watching her every move like he’s afraid she’s going to vanish. It makes her wish she hadn’t told him about her roadtrip and the family with the little girl and the gun in her hand.

_I swear to God._

They make it through dinner and Walt’s version of small talk, but when he asks her if she wants to sleep inside, on the couch, she makes a quick, graceless exit across his porch and across his driveway. She doesn’t have the energy to be around him right now, to wade through his emotions on top of her own.

_And you can never, ever do anything like that again._

She can’t be responsible for his peace of mind when she still hasn’t found any for herself. 

_You promise me._

 

**********

 

She’s not sure exactly what it is that wakes her from a sound sleep. 

Maybe it’s the unnatural creaking of the door, out of place against the backdrop of nature’s greatest hits—the only station she gets out here. Maybe it’s the way the whole RV moves whenever he comes inside, the worn suspension shifting with every step he takes. Or maybe it’s just the weight of his stare pressing down on her in the flat light of an almost-full moon leaking through the curtains that line the little trailer.

Whatever it was has her sitting up and reaching for the gun that’s shared her bed since she killed Chance Gilbert before she has time to fully analyze it. Vic recognizes his outline filling the narrow doorway faster than she can level her weapon at him and drops her slightly unsteady hand back onto the mattress. 

Maybe she wasn’t sleeping so soundly after all.

“Jesus christ, Walt.” He’s standing there in the t-shirt and sweatpants that she’s come to think of as his cabin uniform. It’s a look she's seen a lot of since she’d become a squatter in his driveway. She glances at the clock while her heart settles into a pace that doesn’t feel like it’s going to kill her. “It’s three in the fucking morning. What are you doing in here?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” It’s not really an answer because he can not sleep in his own house. She doesn’t press the issue. Walt’s impulse control has always been all or nothing.

“Great.” She rolls to her side and tucks the gun under the bed. It still feels hard to breathe. “Now neither can I.” 

Her eyes have adjusted to the moonlight, and she can see that he’s looking at her with the helpless expression he hasn’t worn since Cady was in a coma. It makes her feel bad for snapping at him. For being the thing that’s causing him more pain anyway. For everything. 

It makes her remember why she wanted to be alone in the first place.

“I kept thinking about you out there—” he stops and doesn’t ever finish, but she can hear the _on your knees with a gun to your head_ like he’s screaming it. “I needed to make sure you were okay, Vic.”

She’s not okay, not really. She hasn’t been since the day she wandered up the wrong fucking driveway. 

Instead of telling him that, she shifts her method of dealing with Walt into reverse, scoots over, and lifts up the heavy covers. The bed in the back of the RV holds a lot more blankets than the bench at the front, and she’s been sleeping back there more often than not. The walls of the RV are too thin to hold much insulation and it’s been getting cold at night. She’s been wondering lately how she’ll survive a Wyoming winter in here.

Walt stares at the thin slice of bed she’s offering him like it’s a dangerous animal. Or is he staring at her? Maybe Terror was a fitting nickname after all.

“I’m not getting out of this bed, and I won’t be able to sleep with you standing over me all night.” It’s not an offer she would have made at a more reasonable hour, under more reasonable circumstances, but she’s tired and drained and just...empty. 

“Vic—” 

She cuts him off before he says anything that will make her want to change her mind, because now that he’s here, she doesn’t want him to leave. “Walt. Just shut the fuck up and lie down.” 

The bed isn’t big enough for two adults to fit comfortably, especially when one is the size of Walt. Vic finds herself pressed against the wall, and using his chest for a pillow is a logistical decision more than anything else. 

Walt feels like another wall, steadier and stronger than the one at her back, trying to block out the rest of the world. Being coddled and protected is not something Vic normally likes, but it’s more tolerable coming from him than from anyone else she’s known. She lies there with her hand under her cheek and his shirt under her hand, and for the first time in a long while she can imagine a future version of herself that feels whole again. 

Walt turns just enough to wrap his free arm around her. Vic closes her eyes and relaxes into him. Solitude wasn’t what she needed after all. It’s not what either of them need.

She thinks he wants to say something; she can practically feel the words welling up inside him. He doesn’t though, and neither does she. Instead he lets his hand wander across her back and into her hair, and it feels more eloquent than any words he might have come up with. She lets her knee rest on his thigh and there’s nothing logistical about it. 

It feels like they’re on the cusp of something wonderful and terrifying that’s been building for a long time. It makes her heart beat with an intensity that should keep her awake but doesn’t. Vic falls asleep surrounded by his warmth and the weight of his arm on her shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to zip for making this more coherent. :P


End file.
